


Frère Jacques

by teacupsandtime



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Episode: s03e07 Digestivo, F/F, M/M, Missing Scene, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Someone Help Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 10:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15193283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacupsandtime/pseuds/teacupsandtime
Summary: Missing scenes from "Digestivo". Hannibal saves Will and takes him home.





	Frère Jacques

The muscles in his shoulders, arms, and legs ached as Hannibal Lecter emerged from the barn and stepped into the cold night air. The hot, wet blood on his face and neck tingled with the change in temperature as his eyes moved, searching for their next target.

His lungs took in calm, smoothing breaths as the subtle rise in his heart rate quickly returned to normal. He loosened the grip on the hammer in his right hand, its steel, blunt head thick and tacky with blood and bits of scalp. 

Finding no additional guards, Hannibal made his way towards the tremendous mansion of Muskrat Farm, old snow crunching under boots that were too small. He rolled his shoulders gently as he walked, working out the tender knots and aches of having them pulled back for so many hours.

The dead man’s clothes he wore reeked of fear. 

As he reached the main doors, he grasped at the brass handle and heard the _click_ as it opened. As he sipped through it, he caught two familiar scents immediately. 

“Hannibal.”

Turning his head towards the feminine voice, he found Alana and Margot standing close together; Margot’s face was tight with frenzy. 

“He’s there,” Margot said, pointing. “Down the stairs. You need to hurry.” 

Alana watched as Hannibal approached them, his face shiny with blood but his eyes calm and collected. Though he didn’t slow his pace, he locked eyes with her as he passed and made his way down the stairs toward the operating room. 

“Come on,” Margot said as she took Alana’s hand. “I think I know where she might be.”

**

Hannibal made no attempt to silence the heavy fall of his boots as he approached the swinging double doors of the small operating room. With a forceful push of his hand he swung the doors open wide and picked up his pace, heading directly towards the wide back of Cordell who was leaned over the still and restrained body of Will Graham.

Dressed in bright red medical scrubs, Cordell moved to turn toward the noise. Hannibal stopped just before he reached him, allowing Cordell’s eyes to focus on his before he cracked into the side of his skull with the hammer. With a loud _clang_ he went crashing into the medical table between the two stretchers, the scalpel flying from his hand and scattering across the floor. 

The sharp, bloody tip left a staccato, crimson pattern on the tile.

Looking up at the monitor, Hannibal took account of Will’s vital signs and carefully touched the side of his face with his fingertips. Cordell had cut through the layers of skin in a line from his ear down his jaw; it would need to be stitched. Gripping at Will’s chin, Hannibal tapped firmly and repeatedly against his cheek until he saw his eyes flutter open and then close again.

He looked at where Cordell lay on his stomach on the ground, his fingers digging in the floor. Tightening his grip on the hammer, Hannibal moved to straddle his back. Cordell moaned and pushed against him weakly as Hannibal brought the steel of the hammer to rest on the back of his head. 

He tapped it once, gently. 

A low, broken moan. 

Twice.

Louder.

Three times. Harder.

Four times. Harder.

As he pulled the hammer away for the fifth time, he reached back higher and brought it down again. It landed on the back of Cordell’s skull with a thick crunch. Under Hannibal’s weight, he squirmed, his lips moving without producing sound. Again, Hannibal raised the hammer and, again, he flung it back down.

Harder. 

Again. 

Harder.

The final blow felt the thick, reddened steel of the hammer sink through bone and into brain. Hannibal moved the shaft around in slow circles, feeling the give of the organ underneath. Licking at his upper lip, he pulled the hammer free and tossed it to the floor, coming to stand over Cordell’s body and flipping him onto his back. 

His eyes were open but unfocused and unseeing.

Moving away from him, Hannibal looked at Will to find his eyes struggling to open. He noted the vials of drugs near him and opened the cabinets around the room, searching, until he found the vial he was looking for. Grabbing a new syringe and a pair of clean surgical gloves he filled the barrel and pulled the blue latex over his hands. Coming back to stand over Will, he leaned in and pressed the needle into his arm, pushing the white, viscous liquid in with a steady push.

Will’s eyes fully opened for a fleeting moment, his hands - still bound at the wrists to the arms of the stretcher - reaching up before his eyes fell closed again. Unspooling the sutures, Hannibal threaded the curved needle through the split skin at his jaw, following as it moved down towards his cheek in a rushed, interrupted flow.

For a brief moment, Hannibal was unspeakably angry.

Tying the suture off, he pushed the hair away from Will’s forehead, looking at the jagged, healing wound he’d left only days before. His eyes drifted down to the long, horizontal scar on the naked skin of Will’s belly. He fought the urge to touch it - to feel the raised, rough skin against his fingers. 

Instead, he turned and looked at Mason’s unconsciousness form in the adjacent stretcher and down to Cordell’s broken one. Picking up the scalpel from where it had fallen on the floor, Hannibal moved to straddle Cordell’s waist. With a slick precision he pushed the small blade in and guided it down the shape of his face.

The skin split like ripe fruit. 

Blood pooled underneath as he worked, moving the scalpel under Cordell’s chin and back up until it crossed over his forehead and connected with the first cut. Carefully, he grabbed at the base of the separated flesh, pulling it up and over bone and teeth and muscle until nothing remained but a pulpy mess.

Standing, he placed the wet, human mask over Mason’s deformed and abused skin before he reached for the hard plastic covering and pushed down until it fell into place. As he moved away and pulled the gloves from his hands, he heard the click of heels on tile. 

Margot entered the room soon after, her eyes and cheeks smeared black with wet mascara.

“Did you kill him?”

Her voice shook with anger.

“I did not,” he answered.

Alana came through the door soon after, her eyes falling to Cordell’s body on the floor; she lingered over the incoherent gore where his face should have been. 

“He has something I need,” she continued. “Something he promised me.”

“And what is that, Margot?”

Taking a determined step forward, she pushed a tear from her eye, its trail staining her cheek black. 

“An heir.”

Looking away from her and to Alana, Hannibal moved back towards Will and undid the straps around his wrists, legs, and chest. 

“Do you know what would happen were his prostate to be stimulated?”

Alana’s face fell as she looked at Margot and then back at Hannibal. They both seemed as if they were unsure of who would have drawn the short straw. Opening another cabinet, Hannibal found a clean blanket.

“It would require nothing so intimate.” 

Removing the headgear which held him in place, Hannibal pulled Will forward and wrapped the blanket around his back closing it across his bare torso before laying him back down again.

“In the barn, there is a cattle prod,” he said. “Go and get it.”

**

The snow was hard and barely yielding under his boots, adding unwanted weight as small piles gathered on the worn leather covering his toes. The muscles in his arms burned as he continued his slow walk towards the grand driveway of the mansion, the weight of Will’s body - drifting in and out of consciousness - heavy on his shoulders. With one arm under his knees and the other around his back, Hannibal looked down at him - his head lolled back and his eyes closed.

Hearing hurried commotion behind him, he tightened his grip on Will and prepared to turn as the first shot rang out, followed very quickly by a second. The snow behind him was sprayed red, the scattered trail leading back to two limp bodies on the frozen ground. Looking forward, Hannibal saw her - Chiyoh - perched in a tree just ahead with the long, slender rifle resting against her knee.

Exhausted, Hannibal continued forward - adjusting the weight of Will in his arms - as Chiyoh held steadfast and vigilant.

Just as his feet finally hit the pavement of the driveway, he heard her small footsteps approach from behind.

“My left pocket, please,” Hannibal said, his breathing slightly labored. 

Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, Chiyoh grabbed the set of car keys and clicked the small pad until the car just to their right beeped in response. Moving quickly, she unlocked the backdoor and opened it wide. Hannibal carefully set Will down and rested a moment before stepping into the car around him and pulling him fully into the backseat. Closing the backdoor, Chiyoh climbed into the driver’s seat, placing the long case of her rifle next to her on the passenger’s side before she started the ignition and pulled away from Muskrat Farm.

Leaning back into the seat, Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment and softly delivered the directions to Wolf Trap. Nodding, Chiyoh carried on in silence. As they approached the exit off the highway, Chiyoh looked up into the rearview mirror. Hannibal had moved so that his shoulder was against the door, giving Will’s still body enough room to lay fully on the seat, knees bent towards his chest and his head resting in Hannibal’s lap. 

Dried blood was caked over the fingers resting in Will’s hair; Hannibal’s palm pressed gently on the back of his head. Chiyoh watched for a moment as those fingers moved and under their touch, Will’s eyes fought to open. Lowering his head, Hannibal’s lips moved against his ear. His voice was too low for Chiyoh to hear; his lips formed words she didn’t recognize.

In his mind, a blurry, ebony skinned, antlered monster whispered lullabies to Will in French. 

**

Chiyoh brought the car to a halt in Will’s driveway, turning off the engine as she climbed out and opened the door. Grabbing her rifle case she made her way to the porch and set about unlocking the door to Will’s house, getting it open just as Hannibal made his way up the stairs with Will in his arms.

She closed the door behind them, remaining outside, as Hannibal placed Will in his bed and knelt at his feet to remove his shoes. His fingers circled around the bones of his ankles as he pulled them off along with his socks. Moving into the kitchen, he found a large steel mixing bowl. Hannibal filled it with hot water and moved up the stairs, returning with fresh clothes, a bar of soap, wash cloth, and towel.

Placing everything on the counter, Hannibal undid the belt at Will’s waist pulling his slacks down and placing them on the floor. Carefully grabbing his forearms, he pulled Will’s torso towards him, removing the stolen blanket and lowering him back down again. Removing the bowl from the counter, which was warm to the touch from the water, he made a scant lather on the damp wash cloth, rung it out, and moved it carefully against the red skin of Will’s face. 

Repeatedly he returned the cloth to the water - it growing more and more red each time - until all that was left on Will’s face and neck were the bruises, cuts, and scars. He carefully re-dressed him then - in a worn looking dark green plaid button up and black pants - before he pulled back the sheets of the bed and slipped his body underneath. Pulling the thin comforter up to his chest, Hannibal lifted Will’s limp head onto his pillow. As he pulled away, he spied a black, leather bound journal on Will’s nightstand. 

Opening it, he found its contents serendipitously blank. 

Grabbing a nearby pen, he took it in his hand, sank into the chair at the foot of Will’s bed and began to formulate.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be an entry in my [Fragments of Design](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837786/chapters/34342637) series but I felt like it worked better removed from that collection so here it is.


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